


In Vino Veritas

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Crack?, Erectile Dysfunction, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arcade Gannon, peeved and drunk, seduces a very attractive man, and can't get it up. That's not even the worst part of his day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> What have I done?

He never would have been in this situation if it weren’t for the Courier- the damn Courier that prepaid the Garrets and left Arcade looking pathetic and alone at the bar while she scouted out the Tops- determinately alone. No, he didn’t mind, _I’ll wait here, no need to walk those five minutes back to Fort where my chances of doing something productive (though slim) are exponentially better than here_. Arcade decided to get back at her by running up her tab- though the problem with that was the unfortunate side effect of getting him piss-drunk. The things he’d do for revenge.

He was, oh, four shots of scotch down (give or take) when some gambler who was probably _that guy_ that took the urinal next to you when there were several open slid onto the stool next to Arcade. Actually, considering Arcade was the only one at the bar, he had to be that guy.

“I hear you know the Courier.” he said, and some instinctual part of Arcade knew the fact he was asking was probably bad. He tried to play it cool.

“Pfft! I- I dunno a Courier... Who’s askin’?” _Smooth, Gannon._

“My name is Mr. Fox.” the asshole-who-stands-in-the-urinal-next-to-you replied, tilting his head back to reveal his face under the hat in a James-Bond way, and _Oh dear God he’s gorgeous_. “I represent certain interests that would like to contact this woman.”

“Yeah?” he slurred. “Who doesn’t? Get in line, pal.” _“Pal?” Oh, great, now he knows you’re old._

“My company has much more to offer.”

“...NCR?”

He chuckled, mirthless. “I am in no way associated with the NCR.”

“She doesn’t like th’ NCR,” he mentioned, and attached his empty shot glass to his mouth, tapping the bottom for the last drop, “‘nd neither do I.” He stabbed a finger at the man accusatorily, and one thin, black eyebrow quirked in something of amusement.

“Nor do I. I don’t represent the NCR, I assure you.”

“Y’okay.” Arcade said with a nod, then covered his mouth and pointed to the gambler while whispering to James rather loudly, “N C Rrrrr...”

James nodded understandingly and cleared his glass. “Okay, we’re cutting you off.”

“Hey, you can’t cut me off! I haven’t spent enough to piss ‘er off yet!” He nudged Mr. Fox. “H-hey, buy this man a drink, and put it on my tab!”

“That’s hardly necessary. I don’t drink.”

“W’ll, you’re drinkin’ the most expens’ve thing on the menu. Get this man an acomic tocktail! A-... acotomic... atocomic...?” It occurred to him he must have sounded like an absolute imbecile. He turned to Mr. Fox. “I’m usu’lly more eloquent than this. I speak Latin!”

He seemed impressed, that same brow, same amusement. “Do you?”

Oh, dammit, now he had to prove it. All that was coming to him was something he vaguely remembered from Catullus, was it? Catullus did write mostly love poetry. Oh, fuck it, nobody speaks Latin. “ _Pedicabo ego uos et irrumabo_.”

He spoke slowly enough that it should have come out sounding at least sort of like it was supposed to be pronounced, but Mr. Fox looked positively horrified. “Do you know what that _means_?”

“Of course I know what it means! That’s from Catullus, poem... poem ssssssixteen? Oh fuck...”

Poem 16 was so vulgar, it wasn’t fully translated until the twentieth century. The gambler’s face was stern, chiding. “It means, _I will fuck you anally and orally_.”

Arcade smiled and bumped his shoulder with the other man’s. “Don’t mind if y’do.” The leaning  set him off balance, and he groped at Fox’s suit to keep him from falling over. The gambler hoisted him back onto the seat, and retrieved the lab coat the drunken disorderly knocked from the back of his chair to the floor. “Oh, you’re _strong_.”

“Yes, I make sure of it. Now,” he said, holding Arcade’s face between his hands, “where is Courier Six?”

Arcade kissed him: full on the lips, a little sloppy. Why else do you hold someone’s face in your hands like that? The doctor wrapped his arms around this Mr. Fox, and maybe he was a little quick with the tongue, he’d admit. Mr. Fox was apprehensive, but he was holding Arcade’s shoulders tightly, so at least a little into it.

“Come on, break it up!” Francine Garret cut in, and Mr. Fox pushed him away. He looked adorably flushed and flustered, while Arcade just smiled giddily. “We’ve got rooms for that.”

Arcade’s face lit up. “That’s a great idea!” He flowed gelatinously off the stool, and nearly collapsed, if it weren’t for a strapping young totally not NCR guy. “Put it on th’ Courier’s tab!” he chuckled, breaking away and stumbling towards the steps. Mr. Fox took the key and the directions from Francine, following shortly after, steadying the doctor clinging to the railing.

He leaned into Arcade’s ear and whispered, “Tell me where the Courier is, or I will force it from you, and no one will hear you scream.”

Arcade used his leverage with arm slung around Mr. Fox’s neck to pull his ear to his mouth, and nipped it sharply. “Save it for th’ bedroom.”

Mr. Fox opened the door, and Arcade shoved him in before the NCR dunce could try and be a gentleman about it. He closed the door behind them, flipped the deadbolt, and pressed him against the wall- pressed a sloppy kiss to chapped lips, kissed down his jaw to the neck, and bit there while his hands clamped to his hips, ground their pelvises together. Mr. Fox gasped, hands fisted in Arcade’s collar (pulling or pushing, he’s still fuzzy on that point) and hips bucking back eagerly. That put a smile on Arcade’s face, who reached down between them and palmed him to half-mast. The doctor released his neck, and Fox’s voice was so high-pitched, the noise he made could be better described as a squeak than a grunt. He knocked off the hat (disappointing he didn’t have any hair to grab) and yanked the suit jacket down to his wrists; he could do the rest. Arcade dropped to his knees and went to work on his belt buckle. “What’s your name?” he asked.

He had the most gorgeous eyes, looking down at Arcade with a face like the first time Arcade saw a deathclaw (so, like a week ago). He swallowed as the doctor unzipped him. “W-.... Vulpes.”

Arcade had a hand on his dick, and paused to look up at him. “That’s Latin. F’r Fox.”

Vulpes was still breathing heavy as he nodded, left eyebrow twitching up a storm.

Arcade devolved into giggles. “Your name’s _Fox Fox?_ ” He laughed outright before exposing Fox Fox’s member and giving it a few quick pumps. He was still chuckling when he sucked it into his mouth, bobbed a couple times, and swirled his tongue around the head. Vulpes wasn’t particularly endowed, but he was pretty aesthetically pleasing, without excessively pronounced veins and a nice upward curve- but the best thing was how absolutely dumbfounded he looked that someone was touching his genitals. He had a face like he’d never gotten a blowjob before- and Arcade didn’t mind one bit. He pulled off, licked a line up the shaft, and Vulpes was clawing at the wall, breathing heavy.

“How y’doin’ up there?” he mumbled, tonguing at the frenulum before slipping him in his mouth again. Vulpes’s eyes fluttered; he sounded like he was ready to pop already, so Arcade pulled off and stood. _Wow_ , was he really that much taller than this Vulpes guy? “Or... How y’doin’ _down_ there?”

He giggled as Vulpes’s eyes came open, a cool shade of blue, nonplussed and dilated. He giggled as he kissed him, an eager tongue meeting a cautious one, lithe, nervous hands settling on his chest, then working insistently at the buttons of his shirt. He giggled as he undid the little bow around Vulpes’s neck- some kind of tie, but not a bowtie, more like a _tie-bow_...? Whatever; it was like unwrapping a present with a dick. _Dick-in-a-box._

The fox finished with Arcade’s shirt buttons and practically ripped it off, licked a line up his chest and dug his teeth into his shoulder, and Arcade’s incessant laughter was cut off by a groan. He pressed Vulpes against the wall and freed his own member- which was completely flaccid. He spat in his palm and pumped a few times, _anything? Nothing?_ Well, this was fantastic. He was really, really horny, and really, really soft. _Alcohol does that, numbskull_ , some sober part of him whispered.

“Uh...” he started a bit awkwardly, looking up, but Vulpes had his teeth to his ear, and nails to his back, young, nubile and virile, achingly hard-on brushing Arcade’s erectile dysfunction. He stroked the useful dick in front of him, and Fox groaned, and lapped at Arcade’s ear, and _still soft? Yes, still soft_. “Oh, fuck it.” he mumbled, and pumped quicker, and focused on getting at least one of them off. Vulpes growled, and threw his head back, and Arcade bit into the junction of his shoulder, and he apparently really _really_ liked that, because he clawed welts into Arcade’s back and came in enviable spurts on Arcade’s hand, and abdomen, and open pants and streaked his softie, like a mark of shame.

Arcade tucked the offending appendage away and supported himself on the wall while Vulpes mouthed at his neck, knees shaking. “You profligate churl...” he mumbled, and kissed his jaw. “Degenerate harlot...” He nipped gently at the doctor’s earlobe. “What have you done to me...?”

The Follower chuckled. “S'duced you, that’s what.” He grabbed Vulpes’s shirt collar, and pulled him to the bed, tossing him down before collapsing next to him, inebriated and exhausted. “G'night...”

Vulpes was gone by morning, the only evidence of him the dried spunk, his half of the bed made-up to look untouched, but Arcade’s labcoat was folded on the end table when he very distinctly remembered discarding it downstairs.

The Courier found him early, had finally decided how she was going to approach Benny; apparently she cozied-up with his second-in-command and together formulated a plan involving Swank bending operating rules, and Six using her notorious seduction skills to get him alone. Arcade languished at the bar, there only if Benny managed to escape her and flee through the casino. In the end, he made it out through a secret back exit, and Six didn’t even want him dead. Go figure.

No, the event of the night was exiting the Tops- and meeting an incognito Legion agent.

“My Lord requires your presence at his camp, at Fortification Hill. His Mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through our lands. You may bring your Companion,” he says with a wink to Arcade neither of them miss, “if you like.”


End file.
